Pizza Night in Imladris
by CaelumBlue
Summary: Elladan and Elrohir had only wanted Maglor to relax for a bit - not have a near-fatal reunion with two elves of Doriath, they swear. Nimrodel's snickering isn't helping. And WHERE is Mithrellas with the pizza? Modernday Elves, This Day and Age series.
1. Cell Phones Are The Root Of All Evil

**Author's Note**

This is an idea that's been bouncing around in my head for a while. Years, really. Out of all the genres in Tolkienverse fanfiction, Modernday Elves is probably my favorite. I first encountered it back in high school, when I read Mirrordance's For Every Evil trilogy and Neige's A Friday - both excellent stories that I highly recommend, if you haven't read them already. They were different as can be - FEE dealt with reincarnated heroes and world-saving plots, while A Friday focused more on everyday life - but both stories were well-done and got me interested in the idea of elves quietly living among us.

The nice thing about the Modernday Elves genre is that it comes in all flavors - funny, sad, bittersweet - and there's so much you can do with it. After all, you can play with _the entire history of the planet_ while using the same characters. The possibilities are endless.

So a few years ago I started thinking about writing my own Modernday Elves stories, and now I've got my own little series of stories that are waiting to be told. I call it This Day and Age. I've kept it as canon as possible - except for the fact that, well, there are still elves around and they haven't faded yet; that'd kind of defeat the point. I got my cast of characters figured out - it includes the usual suspects, a number of canon elves who I hardly ever see in modernday settings, plus some OCs (don't worry, they're _nice_ OCs).

The This Day and Age series is meant to be fun and sometimes bittersweet. As it stands, I have no plans for Morgoth's second coming, Dagor Dagorath, stopping evil madmen from world domination, or even a reincarnated Fellowship. For now, TDaA is meant to focus on the not-exactly-ordinary, everyday lives of those immortals who never left.

I've been fiddling with this first story for a while now, and finally decided to post the first chapter. I hope it's enjoyable.

Pizza Night in Imladris is set sometime in the mid-2000s (by which I mean the mid-00s). Possibly 2005. I've put it in the Silmarillion section because, while Elladan and Elrohir are important, Maglor really is the main character.

And if you're looking for more Modernday Elves stories, please feel free to check out my C2, Modern Middle-Earth. I've collected every modernday story I could find and put it in there. There's quite a lot, and they're all very good.

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><p><strong>Cell Phones Are The Root Of All Evil<strong>  
><em>In which Elladan and Elrohir call Maglor and demand he come to Pizza Night.<em>

As days went, Maglor Fëanorion supposed he was having a rather good one. This was generally due to the fact that the day had not been horrifyingly, soul-crushingly bad. He'd had those days. They weren't very fun.

But today had not been one of those days, and thus Maglor decided that it must have been a good day. It certainly wasn't a _great_day, but then, Maglor hadn't had a great day since the Fifth Age.

He couldn't even remember the last time he'd had an outright-fantastic, no-strings-attached wonderful day. He suspected it was sometime before Curufin had been born, the manipulative little schemer. There had been no such thing as unconditional peace in Maglor's life since Curufin's birth, even _before _they'd all left Valinor. Maglor was pretty sure that the only thing that could possibly be worse than Curufin was if Fëanor had had a twin. Though, seeing as Curufin had looked _exactly_ like Fëanor and Mother had even named him "Little Father", Fëanor might as well _have_had a twin.

Curufin the Crafty had just had a way of turning everything and anyone to his advantage. If something - good or bad - was going on, you could bet Curufin would find a way to profit off of it. Father wouldn't display his Silmarils in public? Curufin brought out his own gems to show off. Maedhros might be dead? Curufin wrote a lengthy dissertation listing all the ways Celegorm would be a better king than Maglor. Maglor and Maedhros started arguing with Celegorm over ascension rights and responsibilities? Curufin took the opportunity while they were distracted to rearrange a few borderlines on the maps to give himself and Celegorm a few hundred more square miles. A lost Sindarin princess was found wandering alone? Curufin tried to get her married to Celegorm.

In fact, the only person Curufin _hadn't_mercilessly attempted to scam was Celegorm. It was safe to say that Celegorm had even benefited from Curufin's schemes. Curufin and Celegorm, the dynamic duo. Brains and brawn. Thick as thieves, the two of them had been. Maglor supposed it had been a good survival strategy for them, as he was privately convinced that without Curufin's smarts Celegorm would have gotten himself killed in childhood, and without Celegorm's strength Curufin would have been eaten by trolls the minute they stepped off the boats into Beleriand.

The two brothers had bonded from an early age, leaving poor Caranthir the Underrated in the dust as the lonely middle child. Now and then Celegorm and Curufin would let him tag along, but usually it was just Caranthir all by his lonesome. No one had thought it was a problem; at least not until Caranthir had met that Haleth girl. That had been an eye-opener. The poor guy had been so desperate he'd asked a mortal woman to be his sidekick. Curufin, of course, had mercilessly teased and possibly blackmailed Caranthir about it for the rest of their lives.

The only thing Curufin had never managed to profit off of was Huan. Maglor was pretty sure the real reason Oromë had only granted the dog three instances of speech had nothing to do with temperance and patience and all those other generic virtues. It was probably to keep Curufin from turning the hound into a sideshow.

But strange reminiscences of dead brothers aside, today had been a pretty good day. There was the sand, there was the sea, there was the sky, and there was the silence broken only by his occasional song.

There were some tourists too, but they were staying far, far away from him. One or two had tried to approach, but they'd stopped after about five steps when the mysterious, beautiful, otherworldly music had made them start thinking about pain and death and seas of blood. People usually stayed away from him after that. Not that Maglor was complaining.

He idly plucked a few of his harp's strings, watching the waves. A seagull flew overhead, and he grimaced. Stupid seagulls. Rats with wings, that's all they were. So bold, and daring, and perfectly willing to snatch sandwiches out of unsuspecting tourists' hands. Not to mention their obsession with all things shiny. Seagulls were always snatching up shiny things and flying away with them...

He had the briefest memory of a young woman, her long dark hair blowing dramatically as she stood before an open window, glowing gem in hand.

Maglor grimaced and firmly shoved the image from his mind, instead focusing on the here and now. He stood at the edge of the surf, and felt his feet sink further into the sand with every receding wave, and tried out silly little ditties on his harp.

So there he was, walking along the stretch of beach, freaking out tourists, singing to the sea, and generally enjoying his pretty good day. As much as he was capable of enjoying anything, at least.

It was strangely peaceful, even with the sea's constant taunting and the stupid seagulls shrieking overhead.

And then he heard it - Beethoven's Für Elise erupting from his pocket in squeaky, electronic tones.

Maglor stared at the horizon for a moment in resigned silence before reaching into his pocket and pulling out his cell phone. He glanced at the caller ID before answering. "...Hello?"

"Maglor," Elladan said, in a clipped tone that reminded the Fëanorion far too much of Elrond. "Where in Arda are you?"

"...The beach," Maglor answered, and braced himself for the next question.

"_Which_beach?"

"Somewhere in the Mediterranean, I think," Maglor sighed, looking at the tourists scattered along the shoreline. After listening to their chatter for a moment, he added, "Everyone's speaking Italian."

"Well, at least we've narrowed it down to a country," Elladan said. "Elrohir? A little help?"

"Thank the Valar for this modern Age with its cell phones and triangulation," Maglor heard the other twin in the background. "Otherwise we'd never find him!"

"Might I ask _why_ you want to find me?" Maglor asked, though he knew it was a stupid question. For some reason, Elladan and Elrohir had _always_wanted to find him, ever since they'd first met back in the Fifth Age. Maglor had been pleased to meet them - even if he was a bit irritated that they hadn't sailed yet, the ungrateful privileged brats - and had also been pleased to go on his not-so-merry way. But the twins had latched on like leeches, deciding that he needed to spend time with them, with other elves, with other people and no, Maglor, the illusions that pop up when you're singing do not count as people and even if they did they're all dead or dying anyway so you really need some better company.

"Because we haven't heard from you in over a year," Elladan answered, sounding absolutely miffed.

"That's hardly any time at all..."

"We were getting worried."

"I do believe the twenty-first century has ruined your patience, Elladan," Maglor said dryly. "We used to go for decades without hearing from each other. Centuries, even."

"Yeah, thank Ilúvatar that's over," he heard Elrohir say. "I don't know how we ever managed without cell phones."

Maglor spared a moment to glare at the treacherous piece of technology in his hand.

"They're like palantíri," Elrohir continued. "Only far more available to the general public."

"Elrohir!" Maglor exclaimed. Elrond's secondborn might as well have compared the Silmarils to fluorescent lighting.

"Just as easily lost, too," Elladan said, and Maglor could hear the smile in his voice.

"Whatever am I going to do with you two?" he sighed.

"It's not just us," Elladan said, voice turning stern. "Jacelyn hasn't heard from you in months. She's getting worried."

Maglor blinked. "Jacelyn's a grown woman now. She doesn't need me; she can take care of herself."

"We know _that_," Elrohir snorted. "It's _you_she's worried about!"

"..."

"Did you ever think maybe your daughter would _like_ you to stay involved in her life? Even _after_she grew up?"

"Well..."

"Because that's what normal people _do_, Maggie - "

"Don't call me that!"

" - they _keep in touch with their family_."

Maglor sighed. "What _am_ I going to do with you?" he said again, because he had nothing else _to_say.

"Well...you _could_come visit us in Imladris for a bit..."

Maglor hadn't been to Imladris for decades; not since World War Two. It wasn't that he disliked the twins - quite the opposite, actually - it was just that most people didn't like _him_. "I...am not so sure that would be wise, Elladan."

"Oh, come on Maglor, you've visited here before! And everyone was fine with you."

Maglor gritted his teeth. "Elladan..."

"Please? For our sakes? We'd like to see you again."

"Pleeeeeease?" Elrohir added, and Maglor could all-too-well envision the puppy-dog eyes. Elrond had been a master at them.

Maglor sighed. Truth be told, he wanted to see the twins, too. Just...maybe not in Imladris. No matter how many times he went there, he always felt uncomfortable. The elves who'd lived with Elrond had mostly come from Sirion, and half the elves from Sirion had come from Doriath. Not a good combination, even if they all claimed it was water under the bridge. "Why don't _you_ come see _me_?"

"Because _we_actually have a house to play host in," Elladan answered. "Also, we wanted you to come for Pizza Night."

Maglor thought he must have heard wrong. "Pizza Night?"

"Yeah. We're inviting you to Pizza Night; that's why we want _you_ to come see _us_. Besides, you don't even know where you _are_- "

"Got it!" Elrohir said suddenly. "He's in Viareggio."

"Am I?" Maglor asked. Come to think of it, he _had_seen that name on a few signs, though he hadn't paid much attention to them. There was a beach, he'd been walking along it for miles, and that was all that mattered.

"Perfect," Elladan said, sounding far too satisfied. "We'll have Mith and Nim pick you up."

Maglor felt his heart stop. "Mith and Nim?" he repeated weakly.

"Yes, Maggie, Mith and Nim."

"Why them?" he asked, voice rising in panic. "Can't you send someone else? What about Glorfindel?"

"Glorfindel's already here," Elladan explained patiently. "Mith and Nim are in Florence. We'll have them pick you up. It's more practical that way."

"You expect me to spend ten hours in a car with _Mith and Nim_?"

"More like twelve," Elrohir said. "Hey, Mithrellas?" he went on, and Maglor realized he must have dialed the elleth on his own phone. "Yeah, we found him. He's in Viareggio. Think you could drop by and pick him up tomorrow morning?"

Maglor groaned.

"Now, Maglor," Elladan chided, "you've gone up against orcs and dragons and Balrogs and Morgoth himself. I'm quite certain you can deal with a pair of petulant Silvan maidens." A beat. "I mean, Mith doesn't mind you so much, anyway. It's Nim who you need to worry about."

"Great!" Elrohir said. "Fantastic. Thanks Mith. See you ladies soon. Bye." A moment's pause, and then he said to Elladan's phone, "Hey, Maglor, they're gonna pick you up at the Palace Hotel tomorrow at eight AM. It's on the corner of Viale Giosue Carducci and Via Flavio Gioia."

"Wonderful," Maglor deadpanned.

"Indeed," Elladan agreed. "Now go call Jacelyn."

Something started beeping, and Maglor sighed in relief at his salvation. "I can't - my phone's nearly out of battery."

"Then you'll call her once you get here."

Maglor sighed again. "If you insist."

"I do. See you soon. _Navaer_."

"_Namárië_," Maglor said, and Elladan hung up.

Maglor stared at the phone for a second before looking back up at the sun setting at the edge of the sea. He contemplated hurling the chunk of plastic and circuits into the water, but he'd already tossed a Silmaril to Lord Ulmo. No point in giving him his cell phone, too. Knowing the Vala, Ulmo would probably decide to share it with Aulë, which would lead to the great smith replicating and distributing the technology for kicks. And then the peace of Valinor would be forever ruined with horrid techno ringtones of _The Lay of Leithian_ and _Eärendil was a Mariner_.

...Actually, put like that, it sounded totally worth it.

Maglor stared at the little battery image blinking in the corner of his display screen. He glanced back up at the sunset, and wondered how hysterically Arien was laughing at him.

_Oh, screw it._

He didn't throw it with nearly so much contempt as he'd thrown the blasted jewel, and the phone certainly didn't look like a shooting star as it streaked towards the water. But the little splash it made as it hit the waves was entirely satisfactory and had Maglor grinning like an idiot to himself.

Then he saw a pair of tourists who'd crept up to within ten feet of him. Well-off, judging from their dress, and probably hoping to ask about his music or something. Though the cell phone display seemed to be giving them second thoughts. The man looked uncertain, and the woman was staring at him with skewed eyebrows from under her large, floppy white beach hat. Probably thought he was crazy.

Maglor could have laughed. They had _no_ idea.

He hefted his harp and began singing loudly about how much blood was on the floor when Celegorm killed and was killed by the son of the woman he'd almost married, and the tourists beat a hasty retreat.

* * *

><p><strong>Next Chapter: Maglor enjoys an awkward road trip with Mithrellas and Nimrodel.<strong>

**Hope you enjoyed! Reviews are, of course, appreciated. **


	2. An Awkward Road Trip With Mith & Nim

Hey everyone! I'm glad people are enjoying this story. I've been having a fun time writing it. ^_^

In this chapter, we get to meet the dynamic duo that is Mithrellas and Nimrodel! These ladies always get overlooked. I wish there was more fic about them. Nimrodel caught my attention the very first time I read _Fellowship_ (I'm a sucker for background characters who no one pays attention to), and once I learned about her friend Mithrellas's story, I was even more intrigued. I am fairly certain that, from a more canonical viewpoint, Mithrellas probably sailed West and Nimrodel probably died, but keeping them around and alive is way more fun. Poor Maglor...

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><p><strong>An Awkward Road Trip with Mith and Nim<strong>

_In which they drive for hours and have a multilingual conversation._

His ride arrived promptly at eight the next morning, and Maglor took a moment to survey the elf ladies seated inside the silver BMW. Nimrodel was at the wheel, looking disgruntled - as she always did whenever she needed to deal with his existence. Mithrellas sat in the passenger seat, looking far more cheery as she lowered her window.

"Maglor!" she beamed, taking off her Gucci sunglasses so she could get a better look at him. "How have you been?"

He shrugged. "No different than usual."

Mithrellas nodded and cast a quick look at the small, worn bag he had slung over his shoulder. "Is that all you've got with you?"

"Yes." He gave her a very firm look. He did not need a Silva's sympathy.

She nodded, smiling brightly, and he knew she was quietly pitying him. Ugh. "Alright then. Hop on in!"

Nimrodel's finger was tapping the steering wheel as Maglor clambered into the back seat and tried to settle himself among the baggage. There was lots of it. Mithrellas and Nimrodel had apparently been on one of their famous shopping sprees while in Florence. He wondered how much they'd spent. Whatever it was, they could afford it - being immortal had its perks, after all. With their infinite patience, money-managing skills, and all the land, gold, and treasures they'd gathered up through the Ages, the elves who hadn't sailed had never hurt for money. Erestor was a genius when it came to finance, and the twins had inherited the gift of foresight from their father and thus usually had a pretty good idea of how to handle the stock market. To put it bluntly, they were all filthy stinking rich.

Except for Maglor, of course, who'd spent the majority of his life wandering around Arda as a pauper. Oh, he'd made a few fortunes, but he'd given them all up when he felt it was time to move on. The money was either inherited by whatever mortal child he'd adopted at the time or donated to some good cause, and he would return to his lonely life wandering the seashores with nothing to his name but his harp and the clothes on his back.

Needless to say, most of the other elves thought he was crazy for preferring to be poor most of the time, but Maglor was pretty sure he'd been certifiably insane since the night he swore that blasted Oath. Living in perpetual poverty was just one more decision in a long string of crazy choices. He deserved it, anyway. And besides, money was completely unnecessary. He didn't need designer labels to live (no matter how much Elrohir might object), he knew how to find food in the wilderness, and if worse came to worst he could always convince someone to sell him what he needed for a song. Literally.

Mithrellas and Nimrodel, on the other hand... Well, if it wasn't for the fact that he knew that the amount they spent on clothing was only a fraction of the amount they donated to charity, he'd be rather pissed off at the small fortune of designer shopping bags that were laid out on the back seat.

"Feel free to shove things around," Mithrellas said, reaching back to help clear some space. "It's not like there's anything breakable."

"Sure," Maglor said, pushing a shoebox out of his way. It was from Prada, he noted, and Mithrellas must have seen his eyebrows raise because she said, "That's for Rhíchen. Nimmy and I promised to bring her shoes."

"Hm," said Maglor. He'd never been able to understand why women - even elf-women - were so obsessed with overpriced shoes. And it wasn't just the women, either... "Did you also get some for Elrohir, or will they have to share?"

"Elrohir can easily buy his own shoes," Mithrellas said.

"Are we about ready?" Nimrodel asked suddenly, almost managing to sound civil. Her knuckles were white where they gripped the steering wheel. Maglor hastily buckled his seatbelt.

"Yes."

She didn't deign to answer that, merely hit the gas pedal and sped off down the street, nearly flattening three motor scooters and their drivers along the way.

"Careful, Nimmy," Mithrellas chided cheerily. "Don't run over the Vespas."

Nimrodel grumbled something so garbled it was unintelligible even to elven ears, and Maglor sank back in his seat. It was going to be a _long_ trip.

* * *

><p>Maglor had forgotten how trying it was to have a conversation with Nimrodel. Her sheer dislike of him was only half the problem. The other half was her notorious pickiness when it came to languages.<p>

"I swear, if you two don't stop using that _horrid_ tongue..."

Mithrellas sighed. "Nimmy..." Maglor couldn't help but pity her. She was trying her best to bridge the gaping chasm between the indignant, peace-loving Wood Elf who was her best friend and the ancient, kin-slaying Noldo who would rather be anywhere else. And she was failing rather spectacularly.

"_No_. You _know _I don't like Sindarin, Mith."

"But you'll speak it," Mithrellas pointed out.

"Sometimes," Nimrodel grumbled. "When it's practical. Not now."

Maglor knew he should be offended that Nimrodel thought it impractical to speak with him, but he'd gotten used to it after putting up with her bigotry for the past two ages. He deserved it, anyway. Besides, it could be worse - she could be actively trying to kill him, instead of just doing it passive aggressively by attempting to crash the car.

Mithrellas sighed. "Fine, fine, we'll stop with the Sindarin...and Quenya's out of the question, I suppose."

"Definitely," Nimrodel grumbled. "That's even _worse_."

Maglor closed his eyes and refrained from saying anything about backwards, backwoods, isolationist Wood Elves and their inherent inferiority. Nimrodel would probably just come right back with something snide about High Elves and their tendency to kill their own kin and generally wreak havoc on the world. And she'd be _right_.

"Fine." Mithrellas turned in her seat to look at Maglor. "And we don't want her to kill you for speaking in Nandorin."

"Right," he said. Nimrodel had a tendency to flip out on people who attempted to speak her native language if she thought they weren't worthy of speaking it. Those who she thought were unworthy included basically everyone alive. She'd even refused to teach it to Ronnie. The philologist had asked her, multiple times and very nicely, for a lexicon and basic grammar rules, and every single time she'd refused, claiming that she wasn't going to let the mortals get ahold of her precious Nandorin. She'd gotten the other Wood Elves to go along with her, and she'd threatened the few Sindar who actually knew Nandorin with unspeakable horrors should they teach anyone else the language. Maglor would have taught it to Ronnie himself, but he knew it would only end in Nimrodel roasting him alive, and had thus refrained.

"The tongues of Men it is, then," said Mithrellas, and she promptly continued the conversation in English. "As I was saying, Maglor, the twins are looking forward to seeing you again. Aren't they, Nimmy?"

"Naturalmente ci si passare alla lingua inglese," Nimrodel grumbled in Italian.

"What's wrong with English?"

"Suona come cani che abbaiano."

Maglor snorted. He'd never compared English to barking dogs, but he supposed he could see why Nimrodel might think it sounded like that. Somewhere in North Oxford, Ronnie was rolling in his grave.

...Come to think of it, Nimrodel hadn't had a problem with English before Maglor had introduced her to Ronnie.

Dammit.

Mithrellas raised an eyebrow at her friend. "Souhaitez-vous que je parle le français?"

Nimrodel grimaced. "Ai, Valar, no! Questa lingua suona come se soffre di una raffreddore permanente..."

Maglor smirked. The sound of the French language was probably one of the few things Nimrodel would agree with him on. A permanent head-cold, indeed. Ronnie, he remembered fondly, hadn't cared for it much either. German, on the other hand...

"Wie wäre es mit Deutsch?" Maglor asked before he could stop himself. Nimrodel glared at him through the rear-view mirror.

"Non fatemi parlare," she said. "Utilizzare una lingua bellissima. Non che ci sono molti in questi giorni..."

Maglor sighed. She had a point - there really _weren't_ many beautiful languages these days. There were plenty of lovely ones, of course, but none of them could ever compare to Elvish, in any of its forms.

But Maglor was used to not speaking Elvish. He'd lost his native tongue in the First Age when Thingol had outlawed Quenya, and he'd lost Sindarin when he'd started spending more time around mortals than with his own kind.

It'd been a long, long time since Maglor had used any sort of Elvish on a day-to-day basis. These days, he mostly stuck to the tongues of men. He'd always rather liked German. Nimrodel, on the other hand, disliked most languages, save her own. It could get horrendously annoying at times. Oh, she made sure to _learn _them all, for the sake of practicality. But she clung to her ancient Silvan tongue like a toddler to its security blanket, never mind that she and Mithrellas and a handful of other remaining Nandor were the only ones who knew how to speak it anymore.

"Et ce qui se qualifie comme étant _bellissima _pour vous?" Mithrellas asked, speaking mostly in French just to annoy her friend. Maglor wondered why she even bothered asking - Mithrellas probably already knew what Nimrodel considered beautiful.

"Italiano, naturalmente. Ha un suono decente ad esso. O meglio ancora" - she switched to Finnish halfway through her sentence - "Suomen. Tämä yksi on ihana."

Maglor smiled out the window. That was maybe the one thing he and Nimrodel could agree upon. Finnish was indeed a beautiful language - and it sounded a good deal like Quenya, too. One might have thought Nimrodel would have shunned it for that reason, but the Wood Elf's reasons for disliking the tongue of the Noldor had nothing to do with how it sounded.

It just had everything to do with the people who spoke it.

* * *

><p>"When was the last time you <em>bathed<em>?"

"Nimmy!" Mithrellas said, aghast.

"Yesterday," Maglor answered matter-of-factly. "In the Mediterranean."

"That explains the stench of seaweed and rotting marine life, then," Nimrodel grumbled.

"Nimmy!" Mithrellas said again. "Be nice!"

"It's fine, Mithrellas," Maglor said.

"Oh, stop martyring yourself," she scowled, and she handed him a slice of bread slathered in a chocolate spread. "Here, have some Nutella."

"For lunch?"

She grinned. "Why not?"

Maglor rolled his eyes and happily bit into the little slice of heaven.

"So," said Mithrellas, spreading more Nutella over another slice of bread. "I've talked your ears off about what Nimmy and I have been up to... Now it's your turn."

He sighed. "Not much, really."

"Maglor..."

"No, honestly. Not much. Just...walking on the beach, really."

"For the past year?"

He thought about it while he chewed his bread. "Yeah. I think so."

Nimrodel snorted. "What did you do, walk the length of the Italian coastline?"

"Well, I started at Venice..."

Nimrodel's eyes met his in the rear-view mirror, her brows arched in a way that could be construed as either vaguely impressed or skeptical. Mithrellas turned around in her seat to stare at Maglor.

"You've spent a _year_ walking around Italy?"

"You've spent a year driving around it," he muttered. "You've got some Nutella on your chin."

"But that's driving! Walking takes so much longer!"

"Am I the _only person_ who can remember a time before modern technology?"

"No," Nimrodel said sullenly, looking upset at the fact that she was agreeing with Maglor about something.

Mithrellas shook her head. "I can't believe you've been spending months just walking along the edge of the country..."

"I used to do it for years," he said, thinking of the Second, Third, and Fourth Ages.

"Well, you can't now," Mithrellas said primly. "Jacelyn's been worried sick - "

"Jacelyn's a grown woman!"

" - and we've all been trying to contact you for months!"

"_I_ wasn't," Nimrodel muttered.

"Yes," Maglor sighed. "I know. It was hard to miss the fifty new voice mail messages every time I got around to recharging my phone."

"Then why didn't you ever call us _back_?"

Maglor gave her a very dull look. Mithrellas scowled.

"Fine. Be that way. But you _owe_ Jacelyn."

"Jacelyn's fine - "

"No, she's not! You _left her_!"

"With a house and a job and a decent amount of money! She can take care of herself! And I _told_ her I was leaving, it's not like I snuck off in the dead of night!" He gave Mithrellas a pointed look. She ignored it.

"She didn't realize you were going to drop off the face of the earth! She thought you'd at least keep in touch!"

Maglor opened his mouth to reply and forced himself to stop. Yes, Mithrellas was being a hypocrite, but that wasn't an excuse for him to be malicious. He sighed.

"Have you even called her yet?" Mithrellas asked.

"I will once we get to Imladris."

Mithrellas sighed and shook her head. "She's been worried sick, Maglor," she said, and he felt a little knot of guilt twist in his gut. He was surprised there was room for it, given all the other guilt he had knotted up in there. "And I just don't understand how you could just _leave_ your child like that."

Maglor raised an eyebrow at her. "I think you _do_, Mithrellas."

A stricken look passed over her face, very briefly. Her mouth opened, then closed, and then she turned back around to stare out her window. In the rear-view mirror, Nimrodel shot Maglor a heated glare.

* * *

><p>Halfway through the Italian Alps, Nimrodel announced that she was tired of driving.<p>

"Great!" Mithrellas grinned. They'd all come to an unspoken agreement to forget about the conversation from a few hours ago, and Mithrellas's mood had taken a turn for the better since. "My turn, then!"

Maglor tried to hide his anxiety. "Er...are you sure, Mith? Because I'd be happy to if you - "

"No way are you getting your bloody hands on this steering wheel," Nimrodel growled as she pulled into a rest stop. Maglor flinched reflexively.

"Now, Nimmy," Mithrellas said. "It _is_ my car."

Nimrodel grumbled something under her breath in Nandorin as she parked the car.

"Thanks for the offer, Maglor," Mithrellas added, ignoring her friend. "But there's really no need."

"But..."

"When was the last time you actually _drove_ a car, anyway?"

"..."

"My thoughts exactly," Mithrellas said, getting out of the car and stretching. Maglor followed suit. "Besides, I've been itching to drive for _hours_."

That was what Maglor was afraid of. Nimrodel was a decent driver when she wasn't trying to kill him - and even when she _was_ trying to kill him, because she didn't necessarily want to kill the _other_ people in the car.

Mithrellas, on the other hand... Mithrellas was a speed demon.

"If you've got to use the bathroom, go now," Nimrodel said as she headed towards the service station. Maglor followed suit, knowing that she had the right idea. Once Mithrellas got in a groove, it was hard to get her out of it. He recalled that one time in the States, back in the '80s, when they'd made the mistake of putting her behind the wheel during their drive to Walt Disney World. They'd gone from New York to Florida within fourteen hours. No stops. For _anything_. Except gas.

Once he was done with the restroom, Maglor headed back to the car. He briefly considered going into the service station to grab something to eat - his last supper, for all he knew - but then he remembered that he had no money. It didn't matter, though, because Mithrellas handed him a sandwich when he got back to the car.

"Nothing fancy," she said as she chewed on her own meal, gazing out at the mountains surrounding them. "Just some bread, cheese, prosciutto..."

"The prosciutto's lovely," he answered.

"Mm-hmm," she said happily. "Same recipe from hundreds of years ago. Just as good as it was back then."

"Nice to know some things don't change," Nimrodel said. She, too, was staring off at the mountains.

"There've been good changes," Mithrellas said. "I, for one, really enjoy traveling through the Misties without worrying about an orc attack."

Nimrodel blanched. "Oh, don't even bring that up. I hate thinking about it. And the orcs have been gone since the Fifth Age, so you _should_ be used to it by now."

"Sixth," Maglor corrected quietly. "There were some stragglers."

"Details, details."

"Well," said Mithrellas. "Now that we're done with dinner and our trip down Nostalgia Lane, shall we get going?" Her eyes held a borderline-manic gleam as she slipped into the driver's seat. Maglor swallowed down his fear and resigned himself to his fate.

"Are we there yet?" Nimrodel sounded the way Maglor felt - exhausted, exasperated, and trying to hide her terror at Mithrellas's mad driving skills. This last was very strange, as Nimrodel normally didn't mind Mithrellas's speeding tendencies. She was _used _to them, the poor thing.

"Nope," Mithrellas said cheerily. "But I've managed to shave a good two hours off the trip, so we should be there soon!" She dodged around a small van and sped on up the highway.

_Fantastic_, Maglor thought. That was maybe the only upside to Mithrellas's speed obsession - it turned long, boring trips into short, terrifying ones. Personally, he didn't think it was worth the trade-off. "Just...just make sure you don't do anything stupid," he begged her. "Like...pull out in front of a tractor trailer or something..."

Mithrellas gave a bark of laughter. "Maglor, you were in the States too long. People don't _do _that here! The trucks stay in their lane, we stay in our lanes, and everyone's happy!"

"Except for the people you keep out-driving," Nimrodel said, turning around to get a look at the face of the person on the motorcycle Mithrellas just passed. The man was cursing loudly in German.

"Their fault for not having something with more horsepower," Mithrellas grinned. "I _love_ this car!"

Nimrodel turned a longsuffering gaze on Maglor. "It's new," she explained.

"Ah," said Maglor. That must be why Mithrellas seemed to be driving faster than normal - even by her standards. Since Nimrodel was apparently willing to be civil to him so she could complain about her best friend's idiosyncrasies, he decided to make the most of it while he could. "How new?"

"About a month."

"I see."

"It was recommended on Top Gear," Mithrellas gushed. "I'm _so_ glad I got it!"

"She's been insufferably ecstatic," Nimrodel said. "And she keeps testing its limits, as I'm sure you've noticed."

Oh, Maglor had noticed alright. He glanced out the window at the mountains that were going by _way _too fast. "How much longer until we get there, exactly?"

"Two hours or so," Mithrellas said cheerily. "Why? Want me to try and get there faster?"

Nimrodel shot Maglor a scathing glare, and he shrank back in his seat.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note<strong>

For anyone confused about Nimrodel's animosity toward Maglor, please remember that she was pretty prissy toward Amroth - a man she _loved_ - because he was _Sindarin_. Not even Noldorin. Sindarin. And she _still_ blamed his people for bringing war with them. So when confronted with a Noldorin Kinslayer who was one of the eight main people responsible for a lot of the crap that happened in the First Age, I think it's safe to say that she wouldn't be very friendly towards him.

Mithrellas, meanwhile, went off and married a human, so I think it's equally safe to say that she's a much more tolerant person. And probably a little daring. After all, the other elf women who married human men were all high-born and extremely powerful - Lúthien was a half-Maia and a princess, Idril Celebrindal was part Noldorin, part Vanyarin, and also a princess, and Arwen was their descendant, the daughter of a powerful elf lord, and went on to become queen of Gondor. Mithrellas was just a Nandorin maiden from a non-Galadriel-boosted wood with no superpowers or high lineage to her name, yet she still went ahead and did something crazy - something that only two people before her had done, something only one person after her would do, and something that historically ended in grief or uncertainty for those involved.

And I hope that no one is put off by the mention of "Ronnie." I've noticed that a lot of Modernday Elves fics seem to take place in a world in which Tolkien either doesn't exist or never wrote LOTR. Granted, it's a tricky concept to handle, so I understand _why_ they wouldn't include it. Still, it's something that I want to play around with, in a long-term sort of way. There are a few oneshots out there of elves meeting Tolkien, my favorite being _Captain Tinkerbell_ by lipstick (check it out if you haven't already; it's beautiful, awesome, and heart-wrenching all at once), but none that carry through with the concept for a longer story.

So I'm challenging myself to place the This Day and Age series in a universe where Tolkien existed, knew elves, and wrote and published _The Lord of the Rings_. I know I might be bordering on sacrilege here, but I fully intend to make an honest and respectful effort to explore the concept.

So, that's all for now! This chapter might not have been as funny as the last (trust Nimrodel to put a damper on the mood whenever Maglor's in the vicinity), but I hope it was still enjoyable!

Next time: Our weary travelers finally make it to Imladris, where Maglor has to put up with horrible singing and concerned foster-grandsons!


End file.
